If You're Reading This
by losamantesclandestinos
Summary: Inspired by a Tim McGraw song - Erin Lindsay's reeling from Nadia's death. Can Voight - or anyone - help her as she spirals down?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : Characters are not mine. Recognizable dialogue is not mine. All hail Dick Wolf, NBC, Matt Olmstead, etc.

 **Author's Note** : I'm literally brand new to the Chicago PD fandom; this is my first Voight/Lindsay. So if they're slightly OOC, I'm sorry - I'm new! And I know there have been a few like this done but I wanted to give my spin on it since it hit pretty close to home for me. Story title from Tim McGraw's song of the same name.

 **Chapter One:** Trying to Say Goodbye

Erin Lindsay opened the door to her apartment. It had never felt so lonely. And it had never seemed so dark. She couldn't believe that she would never see Nadia's smiling face again. She couldn't get out of her mind that last visual of Nadia's brutalized body, eyes staring up into the slate grey of the New York skies.

She went over to her cabinet, took out a bottle of whiskey that Bunny had given to her as a present once. Staring at it reflectively, she wondered if Nadia had screamed much. Wondered if she had screamed for Erin and then just given up when help hadn't come.

Erin knew Nadia had suffered. The court testimony had been quite clear on that. How was she supposed to get that out of her mind? And she couldn't help thinking that had she not been quicker, had they not done more, she could have saved her.

The what-ifs, the could-have-beens… Voight tells her that this isn't on her, that it isn't her fault. But, bottom line, if it hadn't been for her, Nadia wouldn't have tried to become a cop.

 _I got her killed_.

She will never forgive herself. Never forgive herself for bringing Nadia into this life. Maybe if she had left Nadia alone, never touched her with her friendship, then maybe, just maybe, she would have made it. But none of them would ever know now, would they?

All there is now is an empty place where Nadia used to be. The gaping hole had never seemed so large. Erin couldn't bring herself to stay in the precinct for long now – she begged Voight to send her out on assignment just so she doesn't have to stay and look at the goddamned empty places.

And Voight always looks at her with that... _look_...he gets when he knows she's teetering on the edge and just about to fall. " _Don't go there, Erin_." He told her. " _You have come too far to fall back now_. _Just hang in there, kid."_

It gets better, they said.

Time heals all wounds, they said.

Well, whoever 'they' were, they didn't know one goddamned thing about pain. It never goes away. It takes up residence in your soul and eats at you until you're not sure if you're _you_ anymore or just sorrow. No one told Erin about that part.

She had grieved when Jules died, sure, they all did. But Nadia...this was different somehow. She and Jules both had been family but...Nadia...she'd been the closest Erin had to the sister she'd never had. And Erin wasn't sure she could ever come back from this.

Her hands shook as she poured the whiskey. She knew she could get a fix if she only walked a few blocks down. It wouldn't really be that hard and who would ever know? Slamming her hand against the refrigerator door, Erin shook her head. She wasn't going down that road. No. She'd worked so hard to get clean and Hank would be so disappointed. She couldn't do that to him.

So she poured the glass instead and swallowed it, spluttering a little as the whiskey burned down her throat. But the burn went away and she felt warm and the ice around her heart melted a little. And then she began to feel and the pain...the pain hit her like the weight of a million bricks.

Erin Lindsay collapsed to the floor and sobbed.

Cried for the life cut short.

Cried for the life Nadia would never have.

Clutching her knees to her chest, like she did when she was a little girl and Bunny was on one of her damned trips, she rocked and cried some more. And raised the glass to her mouth and drank. And drank. And drank some more.

Anything to take the edge off.

…...

"Halstead." Voight barked at Jay the next morning. "Where's your partner?"

"I haven't heard from her at all." Jay frowned.

"She's late." Voight snapped.

"I haven't seen her, Sarge." Jay emphasized. "Trust me, I would tell you if I had."

Hank frowned. This wasn't like Erin at all. He remembered the warning he had given her a few days ago. And ice gripped his heart. She wasn't okay; he should have seen it and he'd been too wrapped up in the investigation, in _everything_ , to really _look_ at Erin.

Dialing her number, he prayed she'd pick up. "Come on, kid. Don't do this."

"Let me try." Halstead interjected.

"She'll pick up for you but not for me?" Voight snapped, nerves frayed from the strain of the last few days.

"We're partners." Halstead said simply, not taking the bait, and dialing his cell.

"Come on, Erin." He said under his breath. It kept ringing. And ringing. Eventually, it went to voicemail. So he tried again. Same results.

"Fuck." Jay swore. This really wasn't like Erin.

"Trudy." Hank barked, "If anyone needs me, I'm going to be out of the precinct for a few."

"Got it." Platt replied, a slight furrow between her eyebrows. "Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"This package came for her. Make sure she gets it." Platt's voice was harsh and severe. As Hank turned to leave, Platt added one more thing. "Tell Lindsay... it isn't on her." And something in Platt's voice broke a little.

Hank didn't respond, simply swallows, and nodded at her. And the icy grip around his heart spread a little bit more. He didn't know what he'd do if... aw, hell, he wasn't even going to go there.

…...

"Erin!" He knocked on her door. "Erin, goddammit, open that door before I kick it in."

No answer.

He banged again.

No response.

Finally, he stopped and took a deep breath. "Erin," his raspy voice shook a little, "please. Just talk to me."

A long five minutes went by as Hank stood by her door, each second feeling like an eternity.

Then, finally, her door opened up a fraction. She peeked through it challengingly.

"What do you want?" She snapped.

"Well, first of all, I wanna know why the hell you didn't show up?" Hank had to be tough but he knew she was hurting so he gentled his voice a little.

"I wasn't feeling well." Erin said abruptly, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

"Erin, this isn't the way." Voight said, face stern but eyes understanding. He'd seen that blank look in too many people's eyes...too many times. He'd seen that look in the mirror for months and years after Camille died.

"Fuck you." Erin started to slam the door shut but Hank stepped in the door.

"I can't let you do this, kid." He said. "Nadia wouldn't have wanted it. You know that."

"Well, Nadia's not here anymore, is she?" Erin spat out. "She's gone." And her voice broke. She'd cried so much and still there are so many tears left to cry. If only she hadn't left the precinct that night...for _her_ birthday cake. "She's gone because I didn't find her in time. I didn't DO ENOUGH."

Hank reached for her, wanting to ease the pain he knew was there. "This isn't on you, kid. Not even a little."

"Don't touch me." Erin lashed out. "Just go. Leave." She turned away before she could see more of the sadness, the pain in his eyes. She couldn't deal with that. She had a hard enough time dealing with her own grief.

If he touched her, she'd fall apart. And she can't. She just _can't_. Not in front of the person whose opinion mattered to her most. What kind of cop would that make her? He probably was already disappointed since the scent of whiskey was probably still heavy on her breath. And she couldn't bear to see the disappointment, the disapproval in his eyes.

She had to keep it together.

"Thanks for checking in on me." She said, her eyes shuttered and blank. "I'm sorry I didn't call in. It won't happen again. You can leave a note in my jacket if you want."

"Platt wanted to make sure you got this." He said abruptly, handing her the package. "You know where to find me."

And he turned and walked out, heart breaking. But he knew, more than anyone, there was not much you could do for someone who wasn't ready to be helped. He just wanted her to know he'd be there when the center came undone.

Because he knew how it was like to come undone. He'd been there.

He'd buried his life in a small cemetery in Oak Park.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** _So, yeah, that was a crazy teaser for the finale, eh? It actually inspired this chapter because I hit minor writers' block after the first chapter..lol._

 **Disclaimer** : _You know the drill. Recognizable characters, dialogue, not mine. Quote at the end of the chapter by Stephen Kin_ g.

 **Chapter Two** : And Sometimes It's Easier To Forget

As soon as Hank left, Erin dropped the package on a small table in the corner of her apartment. She would open it later – she really had no interest in it right now. Slumping on the floor, next to her couch and the coffee table, she reaches for the bottle of whiskey again. But then reconsidered. It was possible that Hank would try to look in on her again and she didn't want the scent of booze on her breath. He had done so much to help her overcome her demons in her younger years; she wasn't going to have him go through this with her again.

If she was going to hell, she would be going there on her own. There'd be no dragging others down with her or in her wake. The family had been damaged enough by Julie's death last year. Erin was going to make sure that they weren't touched by any of this.

Looking speculatively at the alcohol, Erin reached for her cell phone.

"Hi, Landon," she said, "yeah, it's Erin. Look, I have a favor to ask you..."

…...

Hank Voight rubbed his face, something he seemed to be doing more and more frequently these days. He was desperately worried about Erin. There had been something behind those shuttered eyes, something that concerned him deeply. As if she had just given up.

He'd seen that look before. Usually on the face of prostitutes on the south side of Chicago, the ones who realized what they had gotten into and knew it was too late for them. Too late to get out. He remembered the night that Nadia had coached Burgess on her undercover role.

 _Turn the light out in your eyes_ , she had said. And the change in Burgess had been stunning and shaking. As if someone had snuffed out her soul. Sometimes Hank wondered how Burgess had so quickly grasped what she needed to do. As if she really understood what it meant to turn the light out. Hank shook his head, putting Burgess out of his mind. He didn't have time to think about that.

He knew the signs. Erin was going under and if she wasn't careful...this time there'd be no saving her.

Frowning, he dialed a number on his cell.

…...

Jay Halstead stood in front of Erin's apartment, fidgeting. He wasn't even sure that his presence here was going to make much of a difference. Since Nadia's death, Erin had been shutting everybody out, including – and some might say, _especially_ – Hank – and, to Jay, that was a strong indication of how deeply Erin was hurting.

Although Hank hadn't said much over the phone, Jay knew his Sergeant well enough to recognize the note of worry in his voice. And this time, Jay could have sworn he could have detected a note of fear.

That rattled him. Voight was afraid of nobody. And if Voight was starting to exhibit the slightest signs of fear, that meant it was time to be very concerned. So Jay had agreed to go over to Erin's apartment.

" _I'm not sure what good I can do, Sergeant_." He'd said.

" _She might listen to you_." Hank confessed, in a rare moment of candor. " _She certainly isn't with me. Just do it, Halstead._ "

Jay refrained from telling him he didn't need to be ordered to do it. He still cared about Erin deeply, even though they'd both agreed to cool their relationship, and it killed him to see her in so much pain. He knew it was also killing Hank – Erin was the closest thing he had to actual family besides Justin, Olive, and their grandson. And that she was blocking him out...Jay had never heard his Sergeant been at such a loss.

So he knocked at her door.

And knocked again. Harder.

No response.

Finally, he'd had it. "Erin, it's Jay. Open the damn door."

Still no response.

"Goddammit, Erin," he whispered, "don't do this. Please let me know you're all-right."

"What do you want?" Finally came a sullen response behind the door.

"I'm worried about you." Jay said.

"Hank sent you, didn't he?" Erin asked angrily, still not opening the door. "You can tell him I don't need a goddamned babysitter and he can go to hell."

Jay decided to withhold the truth; she was pissed off enough as it is. "I came on my own because I was concerned." He said. "Erin, please, open the door."

"Why?" She asked truculently.

"I need to see you." And this time he wasn't lying. She was blocking the pain, all-right, but he could still hear it in her voice. And it was breaking him too.

The door opened a crack and she peered out at him suspiciously.

"You alone?"

"God, Erin, yes." He reached for her but she backed up behind her door.

"I. Don't. Need. A. Babysitter." She repeated.

"Last thing I want to be is your babysitter." He looked at her intently, a small smile on his face.

She managed a small smile in return. "Shut it, Halstead."

"So can I come in or what?" Jay asked. "Or are you going to make me stand out here all night?"

Erin opened the door all the way and frowned at him. "I just...I want to be alone tonight. Why do people seem to have a problem with that?"

"They're just concerned about you, Erin." Jay said quietly. And for a moment he thought he was getting through to her. Her eyes were soft and sad and she looked like she was about to say something. Until the walls went up again and something slammed shut behind her eyes.

"They can go to hell." She said fiercely and suddenly, the bout of fury surprising even her.

"Woah." Jay backed up. "Easy."

Erin's eyes were icy. "Tell Hank I want to be alone. Is that clear, Halstead?"

And she slammed the door in his face.

Jay rubbed his face with his hands. "Crystal." He muttered, shaking his head. "I'm not going to stop watching your back." He whispered. "Never."

Because squad is family. And family never leaves anyone behind.

…...

After she was sure Jay had left, Erin went over to the small night table next to her bed. Opening up the drawer, she took out two bottles of prescription pills.

 _Just for this one night_ , she told herself. _I only need them for this one night. Just to get me through. I'll be okay in the morning_.

Popping open the lid, she stared down at the small round white pills. Taking a deep breath, she took three of them in her hand. For a moment, all she did was look at them, trying not to think about the fact that she was at a precipice and if she took the wrong step, she'd be falling. And the crash could be devastating.

 _Don't do this, Erin_. She remembered Hank's eyes, hard and tough with his crew most of the day, softening and pleading with her. _You've come so far. Don't slide back now_. She didn't notice the tears rolling down her face as she closed her eyes.

Before she could think twice, she popped the pills into her mouth, letting them dissolve under her tongue. The taste was bitter but she was okay with that. She'd been there before.

Lying down on her bed, she waited for the euphoria to hit in. And the forgetting. Oh God, how she needed to forget. _Please_ , _if there was a merciful God on this earth_ , _let her forget._

And the small package still remained unopened, laying forlorn and alone on the tiny stand where Erin had carelessly tossed it.

 _Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win._


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: _This story has been difficult for me to write, for many reasons. One, because grief is something so close to me that sometimes it's hard to write about. Also, I'm new to the Chicago PD show and I'm always afraid I'm getting the characters wrong. So if updates are slow, you know why. Also, not familiar really with how hospitals handle drug overdoses – did some research but if I get it wrong, someone can yell at me._

 _Chapter title & lyrics from __**Freight Train**_ _by Sara Holman-Jackson. Recognizable quotes from_ _ **Chicago PD**_ _._

Chapter 3: **Grief is a Freight Train**

 _Close your eyes/take to the sky like a big blue kite/leave your woes behind_

The euphoria was good for awhile but it never lasted. Erin always hated that. The coming down, the realization that the real world was still out there, that the monsters had just been in temporary hiding. She shook her head and staggered out of bed, fumbling in her bedside table for the next pills to take the edge off. Walking into her bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror.

She was gaunt. Hollow circles around her eyes. Clothes that had been fitting well were now loose. Because she never wanted to eat these days. And often didn't. And there were her eyes. There was nothing behind them. They were empty, scooped out, just like her. Part of Erin Lindsay had been buried with Nadia and that part was never coming back.

Her phone began to ring. She popped another pill and wandered into her living room where her phone was charging. Looking down on it, she saw Voight's name pop up on the screen. She ignored it. But the phone kept ringing. And ringing.

And, fuck it, why can't they leave her alone? Finally, she turned her phone off and went back into her room again. The oxy was taking its time making its way through her system and she was beginning to feel. There were chinks in the ice around her heart and those chinks were becoming cracks. She needed something, anything, to stop the feeling before the pain hit. Because when it hit, as she knew it would, it would be like a tsunami, a tidal wave that she could not stop.

And she can't – couldn't – deal with it. Not without something to take the edge off.

The raw unfiltered pain hurt too badly. It clawed at her until her soul felt like it was being ripped to shreds; grief was a wild thing and it had taken a hold of Erin Lindsay's body between its jaws. She cannot forgive herself. She got Nadia killed. All of this, this was on her. Maybe she should have left Nadia on the streets. At least then, _then_ , she might have stayed alive.

 _If you want a different life than what you have, I will get you to the other side. That is a promise._

Grabbing a glass of whiskey, she gulped it down – a deadly chaser to the pills in her body. But it seemed to do the job well enough – she staggered back into her room and laid down on the bed. And the euphoria returns, and the numbness, and soon the ice barriers are up again and the cracks have been sealed. But this time, darkness accompanied with the euphoria and soon it swallowed Erin Lindsay whole.

…...

Voight looked at the phone in his hand and frowned. He'd made seventeen outgoing calls. To Erin's number. On the tenth call, it had gone direct to voicemail. Rubbing his face with his hands, he decided that he needed to go back there again. Erin was drowning and someone had to save her before she went under.

Not for the first time, he wished Camille was still here. Of all people, he knew that she would probably be able to get through to Erin, break down those icy walls. Erin loved him, that he knew, but she had adored Camille. His wife had been more of a mother to Erin than Bunny had been, had loved her unconditionally, even though she initially thought Hank taking her in hadn't been the best decision.

 _I wish you were here, Camille_ , he thought to himself, _I don't know how to reach her_. And for a very brief moment, Hank Voight faltered. The self-confident, sometimes arrogant, sergeant broke. For a very brief instant. And he was thankful that everyone had left for the night. It wouldn't do for them to see any loss of control.

He's got this.

He got up with determination. He might not know how to get through to Erin but he sure as hell was going to try. And this time, no door was going to stop him.

A busted apartment door, annoyed neighbors, and an infuriated Erin were all small prices to pay for saving the girl he loved like a daughter. He wasn't going to let her go down this way. Not if he had anything to say about it.

…...

 _Knock, knock_. Hank Voight was going to try the polite way first. Just to say he did. So it didn't come back at him that he just busted Erin's door down.

 _Knock, knock_ , _knock._ Still no answer – nothing but absolute silence. And then he started to get a bit more worried.

Knocking one more time, he finally gave up when there was just dead silence in response. He thought momentarily about knocking the door down but then began to consider where Erin kept her spare key. She was a cop so she wouldn't keep it in some place that was obvious.

Or maybe she would.

He picked up the mat in front of her door.

 _Erin, what have I told you about putting your key where anyone could find it?_ While he was shaking his head at her recklessness, he was rather relieved that, at least _this_ time, it could easily be found. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

Walking in, he noticed the lights were still on. He frowned at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter – no glasses visible, which meant she'd probably been drinking straight from it.

"Erin!" He called. No use in completely terrifying her to death by just sneaking up on her.

No response.

He walked in the bedroom only to see Erin laying stomach down on the bed, unconscious. At first, he thought she was sleeping but as he walked over, he noticed the pill bottle on the floor, cap off, some of the pills spilled on the carpet.

"Oh, God, Erin, _no._ " Hank breathed as he bent over her. The smell of whiskey was strong on her mouth but he was somewhat relieved to feel her breath, as faint as it was.

He started shaking her gently. "Erin. _Erin._ Wake the hell up."

Still no response.

" _Lindsay, goddammit, wake up_." He said, a bit louder and angrier, shaking her harder. Erin continued to be non-responsive. Placing his finger on her wrist, he was relieved to catch a pulse – as faint and thready as it was. But she was still not waking up, her face bleach white.

And the fear around Hank's heart grew.

"Goddammit, kid, what have you done?"

Reaching for his cell, he dialed 911, staring into the blackness of the Chicago night. And, for once, the lights of the city didn't comfort him.

…...

"Hank Voight?" Dr. Willhite greeted Voight with a soft voice.

"How is she?" Voight asked, his voice raspy with lack of sleep and worry.

"I can tentatively say that she's going to be all-right. We pumped her stomach but she has not regained consciousness yet. We found large amounts of oxycontin and alcohol in her system. She's going to be okay but I have to say she is lucky to be alive."

Hank exhaled slowly. She was going to make it. That's all he needed to know.

"But," the doctor asked him, "I have to ask you – was this done intentionally?" His voice was kindly but his eyes were serious.

Hank was truthful. "I don't believe so, no." And that's all he was going to reveal. He was going to make sure Erin got help but he wasn't going to throw her under the bus when he wasn't even sure she had purposefully tried to hurt herself. He wanted to talk to her himself first – and then he would march her down to a rehab center himself.

He was not going to let her continue down this path.

"I have to ask." Alec Willhite told him. "You understand."

"I do." Voight nodded.

"We're going to keep her for observation for a day or two. She should be ready for discharge in no more than 72 hours."

Hank just nodded to indicate he understood.

"But, Sergeant Voight, I have to tell you..." Alec said, "...and I'm speaking as a friend, whether this was intentional or not, I would look into getting Erin help as soon as possible. I've seen people go down this road and it never ends well. We both know this." Voight knew what Alec was telling him. He wasn't a stupid man and with the presences of both oxy and alcohol in her system...well, it wouldn't take a genius to make some guesses as to what happened.

"So noted." Voight said curtly. Changing the subject quickly, he asked, "Can I see her?"

"She's asleep but I can give you five minutes." Alec looked at him with what appeared to be pity. He genuinely liked Erin – she had been the one to hold him after telling him his wife was gone. She hadn't tried to comfort him with platitudes and cliches. Erin had a big heart, as big as the world, and sometimes the pain just got to be too much for the big-hearted ones. And Alec had heard about Nadia, about the precinct's devastating loss. Voight might be incredibly tight lipped on what had happened tonight but it didn't take Alec long to put the pieces together.

He lead Voight back to Erin's room and, giving Voight a short pat on the shoulder, he left him alone with Erin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note** : _Okay, guys, I'm going to need some input for the next chapter or two. If Nadia had had a nickname for Erin, what do you think it would have been? Please leave an answer in your reviews. Best one gets it put into the story and an honorable mention. :)_

 **Chapter 4:** Fight For Me

" _There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds." ~ Laurell K Hamilton_

She looks so small in that hospital bed...and fragile. This throws Voight because she's never been fragile. Not his Erin. She's always been so tough. A fighter. Determined to throw back at life everything life's thrown at her. There's been so many times she's could have folded but she hasn't – even when she easily could have.

It was the best thing he'd done for her. For all them – Camille, Justin, and himself. Erin had been a handful and there'd been times he had wondered if it had been the right thing to do, especially in those early days but she had proven time and time again that his instincts had been right. She's as much his blood, as much his _family_ , as Justin is. And while Voight certainly saved her when she was younger, she's often unknowingly saved him too. Erin Lindsay was the best part of him.

And, yes, he had helped save her those long years ago but what about now? How had she gotten this bad and he hadn't seen it? Or had he seen it and just not known what to do? Felt helpless against the tide of raging grief he had felt sweeping over her when he had held her after they'd found Nadia's body. He should have been watching her more closely.

Especially when the light in her eyes went out in the dim gray of the New York skies. They had been as dead as Nadia and as cold as her body, cruelly exposed to the elements. Yates hadn't even given her that last dignity in death.

But grief can be so wildly unpredictable. It can lurk for awhile in the shadows until you're lulled into complacency and then spring when you're not expecting it. And its teeth, they'll grip at your throat and pull you until you go down, bleeding out from the jugular. From the soul.

He's known it all too well. You never really get used to the pain, you just manage to live with it. Somehow, he's got to show her that it's going to be okay – but he's not sure how the hell he's going to do that. Because sometimes in the night, looking at the beaten faces of his own squad, he has his own doubts. There's only so much you can take on this job.

Voight would be damned if Erin became another casualty.

He leans forward and holds her hand in his, roughened fingers gently squeezing it.

"Hey, kid," he chokes out, the words raw and painful, slicing across his vocal chords like knives, "you're gonna get through this. We're gonna get through this. Together. I'm not gonna give up on you. You just keep fightin' for me, you hear? Fight for me. For Jay. For Nadia. For all of us."

And he squeezes her hand again. It's so cold. And still. It's the stillness that scares him the most. It's so close to being dead.

Rubbing his hand across his face, Voight feels unfamiliar moisture on his cheek. _Goddammit,_ _he was not going to lose it. She was going to be okay._ He has to remember that. Has to. He wasn't going to allow himself to think about what could have happened, or what still could happen. As he's been told and has told people himself, the hypotheticals...they will kill you if you let them.

He sure as hell won't let them.

One day at a time, one moment at a time.

Alec comes up quietly behind Voight and lays a hand on his shoulder.

"Sergeant Voight?" He says quietly.

"I'm leavin'." Voight barks sharply, to cover his fear, his worry. Most people know how important Erin is to him but he still doesn't want to be getting all soft in public. There'd be time enough for that later, in private.

There are days he really wishes Camille were here. But she's been gone now a long time and there's no use wasting time in regrets and recriminations. He'd just have to handle it as he always had...

He looks down at his phone again as he leans down and kisses Erin's forehead, ruffling her head.

"Don't think you're off the hook for this, kid." He jokes grimly. "When you're better, your ass is grass for putting me through this."

And he walks out of the room.

…...

The reception's been terrible in the hospital so Voight walks out of Chicago Med only to get a flurry of voicemail alerts and text messages. Some are from Alvin, most are from Halstead. There's one terse one from Dawson.

"Halstead here."

"It's Voight."

"Where the hell have you been? We've been trying to reach you for the past several hours!"

"Halstead..." Voight starts warningly, not in the mood to be chastised by one of his cops.

"Do you even check your goddamned phone?" Jay asks testily.

The silence gets very chill.

"Care to repeat that, Jay?" Voight asks pleasantly. And there's something in his tone that causes Jay to back down. Voight can be tolerant, to a point, but there's a line that the people under his squad know not to cross. Jay is rapidly approaching it.

"What's the problem?" Voight asks.

"We were concerned about Erin." Jay confesses. "I've tried calling, Al's tried calling...Burgess even tried. Nothing."

"About that..." Voight says quietly, "...there was an accident." And he explains - because Halstead deserves to know the truth. He'd protect Erin's privacy as much as Voight would. And he's her partner, her friend.

"Why the _fuck_ didn't you call me?" Jay says in a low hiss. "How the fuck did this happen?" _Oh my God, Erin_.

 _Why the fuck didn't I just stay with you? I should have known, God, I should have known..._

"I was too busy trying to save her life and you are out of line, Halstead." Voight snaps back. It's been a long night and he's still trying to erase the image of Erin's nearly lifeless body draped across her bed. For a moment, there's just silence over the phone and he can almost picture Jay trying not to snap back another smartass retort. Can practically hear Jay biting down on his tongue in his fear and worry.

But to his surprise, Halstead holds back.

Kid's got more restraint than he thought.

"Is she okay?" Jay asks, his voice just shaking slightly.

"She will be." Voight says quietly. "It was a close call. Too close." Voight doesn't mean to let that slip but it comes out because he's tired and he's just done.

"How the _hell_ did this happen? How did I miss it?" The frustration in Jay's voice mirrors Voight's own frustration but there's something else in his voice that Hank doesn't feel like examining too closely at the moment. He's known for a long time that Halstead and Erin care about each other but whatever they had – and he _had_ known about it, despite their desperate attempts to try and be sneaky – has been over for some time now.

But their feelings for one another hadn't faded. He's not blind and while he's appreciated their attempts to keep it professional, they're not always successful with their poker faces.

So Voight decides to go lightly on him. He's suffered enough. They all had.

"We all missed it, Jay." His voice was rough with regret. He'll never forgive himself for not seeing this sooner. He wasn't just the closest thing Erin had to a father, he was also her boss. They worked with one another day after day. How had he failed to see how close to the edge she was.

He should have been there to bring her down from the ledge.

But he hadn't and he was going to have to live with that for the rest of his life.

"I gotta tell Al...the others."

"Don't tell anyone but Olinsky the details, you hear me?" Voight says sharply. "Erin wouldn't want that. She's gonna have a hard enough time without everyone else knowing her business."

"Gotcha, boss." It's a very subdued Halstead. "Can you tell me what the prognosis is?"

"It's good, thankfully." Voight rubs his face again. He is so goddamned tired. "She'll be in the hospital for about 72 hours. After that..." his voice trails off. He's not ready to figure out where they were going to go from there.

Erin needed more help than any of them could give her. He was not going to let her go down that path and stay down that path again. If he had to lock her up in rehab until she'd gotten some treatment and counseling, he would. Hank Voight would do anything to save her life.

"I'm goin' back to Erin's house to get some clothes for her at the hospital." Voight says. "And then I'm goin' home. I'll be in at eight tomorrow morning. The rest of you, go home."

"But..."

"That's an order, Halstead. And I'm really not in the mood to argue so just do it." In a softer tone, he adds, "The doc said she could receive visitors tomorrow when she's conscious. There's nothing you – nothing any of us can do tonight."

Halstead simply hangs up. Voight can tell he's still angry but he just doesn't have the energy to deal with Jay's anger. They're all hurting; all walking wounded. It was hard when Jules was shot – this...this...the scab that'd been healing over is reopened and they're bleeding out.

And Voight needs to find a way to stop the bleeding before they lose anyone else.

Going back to Erin's apartment, he quickly packs some things for her. He also throws out the remaining bottles of oxy that he's found tucked under her pillow and in her nightstand. Tosses the whiskey, the pills, everything into a bag and takes it with him. She may hate him for it later but he'd be damned if he'd let those things near her again.

As he's walking out of the apartment, he sees an unopened package on the small table in her apartment. He picks up, without really looking at it, and adds it to the things he's taking over to the hospital for her.

 _People always do like gifts, don't they?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note** : _Please forgive the long wait for this final chapter. I'm sorry that this chapter isn't up to my usual work, I've been sick (had to have surgery) and just struggling with writer's block. It's also a little mystical – but grief has many manifestations (trust me, I've been there) and dreams are part of them. So bear with me. And thanks to_ _ **thelisa17**_ _for Nadia's nickname for Lindsay. :)_

 _Recognizable dialogue is not mine. Nor are the characters. Lyrics are from_ _ **Coming Home, Part II**_ _by Skylar Grey_

 **Chapter Five** : Coming Home

Erin Lindsay didn't know where she was. It was an odd place, full of clouds, and shadows, and light. Somewhere she'd never been and it was a place that felt as if it had no location or sense of time. Disoriented, she tries to look around but it was as if she was immobilized, unable to use any of her limbs.

"Hi, Erin." A soft voice greets her. She knows that voice. A voice she's heard so many times in her head over the last several weeks.

" _Nadia_?" She says, startled, looking up – because she was able to do that - only to see the face of her old friend. The one she had lost, the one who she missed so terribly.

"What are you doing here, Erin?" Nadia asks gently, with compassion. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Where the hell is _here_?" Erin asks, confused. "My dreams? Why am I not supposed to be in my dreams?"

Everything is so fuzzy and so confusing. Things seem so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. She has the vague feeling that she's supposed to be doing something, that she's forgotten to do something but it's all just a vague stream of impressions.

She can't think. Can't figure out where she was, why she was.

"Some people know it as limbo." Nadia explains. "You don't need to know more than that. Too much knowledge too soon is a dangerous thing."

Lindsay feels the sensation of a tear rolling down her cheek. "Dammit, Nadia, you weren't supposed to go this soon."

Nadia gives her a sad smile. "Too many things happen before they're supposed to. That's just the way life goes. We just deal the cards we're played even if it's a shitty hand. You taught me that."

"I didn't protect you. I'm so sorry." Lindsay chokes, trying to tamp down the grief, the savage knife-like pain slicing through her heart. "If it weren't for me, you'd be..."

"...still working the streets, still using...probably long dead before now." Nadia says quietly. "You gave me hope, that I could make something of myself. You taught me to see myself as something other than just another body to be eaten up by the streets. You _saved_ me, Erin. And, side note, it wasn't your job to protect me." She grins. "I could take care of myself very well, thank you. Just ask the jerk who tried to hit on me at Molly's last year."

Then she's serious again. "This path you're on, Erin? Don't go down there. It's not good for you."

"I don't need a lecture from an hallucination." Lindsay barks. She'd had enough of this shit. It was just too hard seeing this...this...weird imaginary Nadia in her head. And, frankly, she's over it. "I just need to be past this goddamned pain."

"Pain is a part of life, Erin. We can't ignore that. We can't block it. It's just the way it is."

"Says the person who is now dead and just exists in my head." Erin says bitterly. "What do you know about it anyway?"

"Funny how things get a bit clearer when you're dead." Nadia smiles ruefully. "But, seriously, Erin..." and Nadia lays a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "I'm not coming back. You've got to let me go."

"I can't." Lindsay's voice breaks, her impenetrable walls cracking.

"You have to." Nadia insists firmly. "For your sake. And for mine."

"Goddammit, I don't want to forget you."

"You won't." Nadia smiles. "Isn't there a nice little plaque on that wall pretty much guaranteeing you won't forget me, no matter how hard you try? Letting go isn't forgetting."

"You sound like a goddamned Hallmark card."

"Don't blame me." Nadia raises her hands. "Hallmark platitudes come with the territory. And it's true, you know."

Then she places both of her hands on Erin's shoulder. " _You don't belong here_ , Erin Lindsay. It's not your time. There are people who need you. Hank, Jay, your squad. So get your shit together and pull yourself out of it."

"Jesus Christ, Nadia, have you been talking to Voight? Your bedside manner is just like his."

"God, don't get me started on that man. But I did learn some stuff from him." She smirked a little but then was serious. "Erin, you're not the only one hurting here. They're all in pain. They need you. So quit your pity party and go to them already."

Nadia leans forward and gives her friend a squeeze. "Jay's bringing something with him. Open it. Read it. And don't worry about me. I'm good. We're good. And I'll see you on the other side."

 _That's a promise_.

 _This isn't goodbye._

And just as suddenly as she was there, Nadia is gone. Again.

And Lindsay is tired, so tired again...

…...

The one thing people don't tell you about regaining consciousness is that it can be a bit of a bitch. It's not always as smooth as just waking up. Sometimes it feels like you're struggling to get to the surface of water when you're swimming or throwing off a lot of blankets that are really heavy.

For Erin Lindsay, it's like throwing off blankets. Lots and lots of blankets.

"Erin?" She knows that voice. Knows it very well.

"Jay?" Her eyes flutter open.

"Hey, Lindsay." Halstead looks down at her, concern and relief in his eyes. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Huh?" She looks around, seeing the tubes and wires in her arm. "Where am I?"

"You're at Chicago Med." Jay says, pulling up a chair. "Erin, you OD'd. Hank found you. A few more moments and you would have been dead." His voice broke and he struggled to find words. "Why the hell did you do that? Why didn't you talk to me? We were _partners_ , Erin...we were...we were more than that. I thought you trusted me. How could you do this to me, to Hank?"

Erin looks at him, a shuttered look in her eyes. "You wouldn't understand, Jay."

Oh no, he'd be damned if he'd let her shut him out again and pretend that he isn't hurting too.

"I wouldn't understand? I wouldn't understand that there's a big gaping hole in the squad room where Nadia used to be? I wouldn't understand that the entire squad is the walking wounded but they can't fucking grieve because they're too worried about you. No, you don't get to look away, Erin. _Look at me_."

And Jay's voice broke again. "Erin, I get it. She was my friend too." He gripped her hand. "But she's gone. And you've got to let her go. And, for God's sake, quit turning your back on people who fucking care about you. Goddammit, Erin, we can't lose you too. _I_ can't lose you. So get your shit together."

To her embarrassment, Erin could feel tears welling up in her eyes. "Damn you, Jay Halstead." She whispers. "Damn you." Wiping her sleeve across her face, she asks gruffly, "Where's Hank?"

"Went to get some sleep." Jay tells her. "He should be here soon. He's barely left your side."

"I'm so sorry." She says softly. "I just...Jay, it hurts. First Jules, then Nadia...something broke and I couldn't fix it. Couldn't make the pain go away. All I could think of was that I did this to her. This was all my fault."

"It wasn't your fault, babe." Jay grips her hand again. "There was nothing you could have done."

"Jay?" She asks hesitantly. "This may sound weird but did you bring anything from the apartment?"

"Oh, yeah." He says, handing her the small brown package that was in her apartment.

Erin tries opening it but she's still so tired.

"Here, smalls," Jay cracks a smile, "let me do that."

"Don't call me that." She glares at him.

He smirks as he undoes the box. In it is a small package and a card.

On the card was Nadia's handwriting...

Jay looks concerned. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Yeah, Jay, I am." Her fingers shaking, she opens it.

 _Hey, Linds._

 _I wanted to send this out before your birthday so you'd actually get it on your birthday. With working and studying, things are crazy and, knowing me, I'd forget to get this to you on your special day. So, I'm sending it out in advance. Here's hoping you got this and that it didn't take six weeks for you to get it, like that one time when Jay didn't get his letter until weeks later. Damn office snail mail._

 _So anyway..._

 _If you're reading this, I just want you to remember just how amazing you are. You saved me, Erin Lindsay, and, for that, I owe you everything. And I hope that when I finally become a cop and get that badge, you're right there beside me._

 _You told me once long ago, "If you want a life better than what you got, I will get you to the other side. That is a promise." Thank you for keeping that promise. People have asked me what I want to do with my life. I tell them, "I want to help people. Like Erin Lindsay. She's the cop I want to be."_

 _Happy Birthday, Linds, to the finest cop I've ever known._

 _And the gift? It's an old family tradition. St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. In our family, we give these medals to our loved ones in the hope that their journeys in this life are safe ones and that they always come safely back to their loved ones._

 _Here's to safe journeys. And may you always come back home._

 _Love,_

 _Nadia_

Unwrapping the small box, Erin sees a beautiful sterling silver medal nestled inside.

And, for the first time since Nadia died, Erin starts to cry. Jay leans forward and pulls her into his arms.

"It's going to be okay." He whispers into her hair. "It's going to be okay."

…...

"Hey, kid." Voight pulls up a chair by her bedside. "You gave me a hell of a scare. Don't fucking ever do that to me again." His face is stern and set but his eyes are worried and full of concern for her.

Erin's laying back against the pillows, worn from her bout of crying. The pain's still there but, somehow, it's less acute. It's a little more bearable now.

"I'm so sorry, Hank." She says softly, regret all over her face. "I fucked up and I get it if you can't give me a second chance." Erin couldn't even look Hank in the face, knowing how torn up he had been about what she had done and what she had put him through, not just over the last few days but since Nadia's death.

"Kiddo, we're gonna get you help because you need it." He says firmly. "No arguing."

Erin starts to protest but then closes her mouth. "Fine." She says quietly. It's the least she can do to try to repair the damage she's done, to try to save herself.

"Are you okay?" Voight scans her face closely.

She finally looks him in the face and the pain is so visible that Voight has a difficult time not wrapping her up in a huge hug. But he also senses that she's trying to hold herself together and that it wasn't the time for a hug. Perhaps when she's stronger.

"No." She says truthfully. "But I will be."

"That's my girl." Voight leans back in his chair, smiling fondly at her.

"Hank...I..." Erin licks her lips, trying to find the words to tell him again how sorry she was.

"Don't, Erin." Voight waves her words aside. He knows. He always does. "You can talk to me, kid, you know that, right?"

"Yep." She smiles at him faintly, her eyelids closing.

"I'm gonna let you get some sleep but we'll be here. Whenever you need us." Voight gets up, brushes her hair off her forehead. "It's gonna be okay."

"I know." Lindsay whispers as she falls off to sleep, hand touching her St. Christopher medal.

…...

 _tell the world I'm coming home_

 _let the rain wash away_

 _all the pain of yesterday_

 _I know my kingdom awaits_

 _and they've forgiven my mistakes_

 _I'm coming home_


End file.
